Downtown's Alamo Ritz, host to two of SXSW's seven total screens, stands amidst a bustling 6th Street crowd in the early evening.The day began as a mystery. “Super Secret Screening” was listed in the 11 a.m. timeslot for the humungous Paramount Theatre. Given that no programmer in their right mind would make under-slept festival-goers wake up at 9 in the morning for just anything, I decided to go. Speculation was rife in line. I read that Knocked Up was unveiled to an audience in the same way two years prior, so I initially wondered if the secret offering might be the new Judd Apatow summer comedy, Funny People. But with the frat-pack films I Love You, Man and Observe and Report already on the schedule, that seemed an unlikely possibility. Maybe it was a festival favorite still awaiting release, like the Charlene Yi-starrer Paper Heart? But why would that be a “secret”? Ten minutes before the show, I had saved my seat and, walking to the concession stand to grab a pick-me-up Coke, I was told that the cat was out of the bag. The film was Richard Linklater’s Me and Orson Welles, a selection that was just as unexpected as it was easily predicted. Linklater is an Austin native and friend of the fest, so it all clicked, but no one was honestly thinking SXSW’s big secret would involve Zac Efron. A few folks—presumably those who reacted violently to High School Musical—walked out when they heard the news, but most of us were excited. Not only was Me and Orson Welles a big movie, it was a big movie that hadn’t yet been picked up and wouldn’t come out for months!
While Me and Orson Welles never reaches beyond the realm of lighthearted, fluffy entertainment, it’s always engaging thanks to Linklater’s solid classical-style craftsmanship and uniformly good performances. Efron plays protagonist Richard Samuels, a high school-aged dreamer who sneaks away to New York City one day and lands himself the role of Lucius in the soon-to-be-infamous Orson Welles’ (Christian McKay) 1937 Mercury Theatre rendition of Julius Caesar. Given Welles’ unstable genius, the young and hopeful Richard’s life is largely dictated by the near-random whims of his director, who commutes across town by ambulance to save time and won’t commit to an opening day until it is an absolute must that he do so. This relationship gets more personal and complicated, too, when Welles’ booty-call of an assistant, the beautiful Sonja (Claire Danes), begins to reciprocate Richard’s head-over-heels crush on her.
The film’s true star is not Efron, who perfectly fits the bill for the wide-eyed Richard without being extraordinary, but Christian McKay. If McKay doesn’t nail Welles, then he at least nails a compelling variation on the endlessly-discussed historical figure. This was no easy task given most viewers’ extensive prior knowledge of the man and expectations for the portrayal. Smartly, director Linklater centers the film’s depiction of Welles on the director’s interaction with Richard, so as to avoid it coming off as a glib attempt to show the full extent of his life and career. This gives McKay some creative room to roam while still adhering to Welles’ manic reputation, and he exercises it brilliantly. Claire Danes is also memorable, both for her looks and her acting.
Beyond the fact that it offers a good time, audiences may appreciate Me and Orson Welles because it tackles two underrepresented sub-genres in American film: historical fiction that doesn’t involve a war and non-musical live theater. Linklater may not have fashioned anything remarkable, but if all movies were this briskly enjoyable and semi-unique, I’d be one content critic. 3 Buckets out of 4.
After Me and Orson Welles was over, I faced an annoyance that regular festival attendees know all too well: the dreaded 150 minute gap between shows. While too short a period of time for me to comfortably return to my hotel room between scheduled shows, it was also too long to sit in a local coffee-shop writing reviews. Alas, I forced myself to watch a “time killer movie” I otherwise wouldn’t have touched with a 10-foot pole, hoping it’d make for a tolerable hour and a half. Such was not the case with The Yes Men Fix the World, the title leftist duo’s latest anti-globalist practical-joke piece. If you haven’t heard of the Yes Men, just know that they’re extremists of the most irrational kind. For a conservative like me, sitting through a feature-length version of their schtick is pretty much torture. I never saw the first Yes Men movie and why I decided that this one was a legitimate option is now beyond me. But I guess it’s good to acquaint oneself with the political extremes every so often, only to be repelled. I got my dose of the hard right on my first day of SXSW when the cab driver pointed out New World Order alarmist Alex Jones’ live radio broadcast, so perhaps The Yes Men Fix the World was just life balancing itself out.
The basic schtick: front-men Andy Bichlbaum and Mike Bonnano, who might describe themselves as activist jokesters, create fake websites for “evil” corporations like Haliburton and wait for various business conference-groups and news channels to invite them to events at which they pretend to be executives for said corporations. In character, they usually convey their anti-capitalist sentiments by encouraging the corporate-employee filled audiences to respond favorably to outrageously irresponsible remarks. The big stunt in The Yes Men Fix the World involves Andy posing as an exec for Dow Chemical and announcing the company will pay millions of dollars in compensation to the families of Indians who died or got injured in a chemical-leak 20 years ago at a factory operated by Union Carbide, now owned by Dow. The movie purports that this caused a massive stock dive for Dow and that most residents of the factory-town were ultimately happy with the stunt because it brought awareness to the issue, but who knows if this is actually the case? The momentary drop in share-price could be attributed to a number of things, although I don’t doubt that the televised announcement had something to do with it. Additionally, Variety’s Leslie Felperin, among others, echoes my impression that the footage from India seems staged.
Even though the Yes Men spend a lot of time congratulating themselves on a job well done at the end of the film and trying to convince viewers they’ve made a positive impact, it’s hard to see any honor in their cause or their methods. While it’s admittedly funny in a juvenile sense to watch them fool accomplished multi-millionaires, the stunts they pull are pretty deplorable. How many victims of the chemical-leak believed they would finally be compensated for their health problems or the death of their family members? (That is, if any of them actually saw the fake announcement—I’m making a big leap of faith in taking Andy and Mike’s word that it was widely televised.) And, presuming the Yes Men indeed caused a dip in Dow’s share-price, how many hardworking Americans did they force to sell stock at a lowered cost? Because of the Yes Men’s tactless approach and senselessly anti-capitalist agenda, it’s hard to take even the few valuable things they have to say about corporate responsibility seriously. By comparison, Michael Moore seems like a rational, informed documentarian. ½ a Bucket out of 4.
Luckily, the bad movies for the day stopped there.
Kristian Fraga’s Severe Clear offers what seems to be the clearest-eyed documentary depiction of what it’s like to be a soldier in Iraq to date. (I say “seems” because I don’t know what it’s like so my judgment is an object of perception, not experience.) The film was assembled entirely from digital-camera footage shot by First Lieutenant Mike Scotti and his fellow Marines during the initial invasion of Iraq. The purpose of Severe Clear is not to dissect the war itself, but to show the lives of the soldiers on the ground, who must follow orders whether the war is justified or not. The film’s most refreshing trait is that, unlike so many others on the subject that inaccurately depict those serving in the American military as helpless chess-pieces that were arbitrarily moved by the Bush Administration, it shows the Marines as the highly informed citizens they are. There’s a scene midway through in which a radio report on the invasion plays and, after initially assuming that director Fraga added this to the film’s soundtrack to provide a sense of the timeline, the viewer is taken aback when they realize the soldiers are actually listening to the news while driving in their Humvee. Coupled with the picture’s up-close-and-personal showcase of the skills of soldiers in combat, this is a powerful testament to the ability and heroism of those serving in the American military.
The film does have its technical problems. Despite Fraga’s clear ability to select riveting bits of Scotti’s footage, he crudely divides the film into arbitrary “chapters,” making the pace choppy. In addition, Fraga relies heavily on voice-over by Scotti reading the letters he wrote home during the war. While there’s nothing wrong with this approach in and of itself, it has a tendency to bring the viewer out of the moment because Scotti sounds like he’s carefully reading them into a microphone. (Imagine that: he’s not also a part-time actor with professional training in voice-work.) Severe Clear could have been a great film had it been assembled better. But the picture’s flaws can ultimately be forgiven in favor of its superior portrayal of a side of the Iraq War that hadn’t before been seen on film. Given audiences’ proven aversion to the subject, the movie may have trouble securing a theatrical distribution deal, but I hope it beats the odds and has the chance to finally provide moviegoers a balanced and human take on an all-too-politicized war. 3 Buckets out of 4.
In 2007, the legendary Hal Holbrook returned to film acting after a six-year lull with a supporting performance for the ages in Into the Wild. He’s back in the lead with That Evening Sun, which won the festival’s Audience Award and Special Jury Award.
Based on a short story by William Gay, the film follows Abner Meecham (Holbrook), an 80-year-old Tennessee man who escapes from a depressing nursing-home and returns to his longtime farm. Conflict ensues when Abner finds the deadbeat Lonzo Choat (Ray McKinnon) living there with his wife and daughter (Carrie Preston and Mia Wasikowska). Apparently, Abner’s son, who put him in the nursing home to begin with, leased Lonzo the place with the option to buy. Despite Lonzo’s threats, Abner doesn’t intend to leave: he sleeps in the shed out back as tension further escalates. As That Evening Sun progresses, the viewer realizes they’re in for a showdown, but how it happens and how these characters develop makes for a truly involving experience.
This is a strong feature debut for writer/director Scott Teems, who effortlessly allows the emotions to build and take hold over the audience. In the process, he brings out the film’s unique Southern setting, both in the visuals and in the characters. But the real distinguishing quality of That Evening Sun is the cast, who turn in excellent performances across the board. Holbrook’s Abner, while set in his ways and hot-tempered, is a sympathetic and complex protagonist. It’s worth noting that he’s one of the few strong elderly characters we’ve seen in recent American film, and this adds an additional dimension to the material. McKinnon makes for a thoroughly yucky villain in Lonzo, but the character becomes a lot deeper than that in the third act. That Evening Sun is one of those movies that the viewer must just take in as it unfolds and, by the end, they will have discovered unexpected and enriching rewards. 3 Buckets out of 4.
The invaluable—yes, I said it—Seth Rogen stars as Ronnie Barnhardt, a mall cop who shares about as much in common with Paul Blart as Marilyn Manson does with Elmo. Ronnie’s a total loser by conventional standards: he’s well into his thirties, but still lives with his alcoholic mother and doesn’t have an apparent life outside the mall, which he exhorts a near-sadistic sense of ownership over. (Okay, I’m serious here, as much as that might sound like Paul Blart: Mall Cop on paper, take one look at the trailer and you won’t be comparing the two any longer.) Ronnie goes completely gun-ho when an on-the-loose male flasher who terrorizes mall patrons disrobes before his unhealthy obsession of a crush: make-up kiosk worker Brandi (Anna Faris). Ignoring the detective assigned to the case (Ray Liotta), Ronnie vows to take matters into his own hands and catch the perpetrator at all costs.
Observe and Report is as offensive and abstract as studio movies come. Yes, the rumors are true: there is an extended a scene in which Ronnie date-rapes Brandi, only for her to perk up and ask “Why are you stopping, motherfucker?” when he slows his thrusts to check if she’s alive. Many will call it trash, but I found it to be the funniest film of the year so far. We laugh at Ronnie because he’s downright pathetic and, as was the case with the karate-choppin’ protagonist in Hill’s debut, we don’t feel bad about doing so because we sense that Ronnie is so far gone that he wouldn’t recognize our laughter for a character judgment even if he could hear it. In fact, it isn’t necessarily a judgment: one could argue that it’s instead the only way for the viewer to cope with the scary idea that there are probably real Ronnies living in America. For this same reason, we nearly embrace the character because he’s utterly fascinating as a representation of a culture gone down the tubes. As such, Ronnie may not even fit the “anti-hero” mold; if pressed, I’d call him a “likably flawed hero.”
It goes without saying that a full understanding of why Rogen and Hill’s brand of absurdism can be so riotous is beyond the scope of this piece. Don’t even get me started on the social commentary achieved by Ronnie’s equally-nutty fleet of fellow mall officers played Michael Pena and the Yuan twins, let alone the film’s buzzed-about resemblance to Taxi Driver. Observe and Report is simply a movie you must see to believe and, in truth, whether it leaves you revolted or in stitches may be beside the point entirely. 3 Buckets out of 4.
And there you have it – another piece of my SXSW coverage is in the can. With only three days of the festival left for me to write about, I can see the light at the end of the word-tunnel. Hope you’re enjoying these as they sure take a lot of time to write.
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